Shocking News From France
I was alerted to some shocking news from France today: The French have four whole people willing to take up weapons and actually use them. This, of course, comes as a big shock to anyone familiar with World War II in which France played a crucial role because, hey, someone had to flee the battlefield crying like little girls. The news comes from “one of France’s largest festivals of medieval culture”, which, let’s face it, is just another reason for them not to shower. Anyway, here is the first sentence from the AFP report:
A gang of four thieves dressed as knights and armed with a sword and an axe robbed the organisers of a medieval festival in northeast France Monday and made off with $25,000.
Yes, in an age where most of us discuss gun control, nuclear proliferation, bio-terrorism, and drone attacks, France is still dealing with brigands. (One imagines a Parisian in the country shouting, “Sacre bleu, the brigands have made off with my wine!”) At the rate they’re going, they’re going to have to start getting ready for a rash of drive-by-catapaultings.
I don’t know what it is about the French that makes making fun of them so… so easy. I think part of it is the stereotype of the snotty Parisian, which as far as my limited experience goes is absolutely, dead-on correct. (Calling Parisians snotty is like calling New Yorkers brash. You will occasionally get a New Yorker that disagrees with being called brash, but while he is politely and courteously informing you that your sweeping generalization is incorrect, someone will walk by whistling and the New Yorker will say, “OHHHH, HEY, I’M FUCKIN’ TALKIN’ OVER HERE YA’ HUMP!”)
I’ve met many people from France, almost all of them from “the countryside”, and they are unfailingly nice people with wonderful manners, thoughtful, courteous, and will even laugh at jokes at the expense of the French with self-deprecating good humor. And then I met one person who hailed from Paris, and he made it a point to let everyone know that he wouldn’t piss in an American’s mouth if his teeth were on fire. Just an absolute cock-snot, arrogant, haughty, and rude to the point where we finally gave up trying to act civil with him and fed him to some New Yorkers.
So it’s easy to make fun of the French because Parisians make you want to do it, and it’s also easy because of their, shall we say, less than stellar record in armed conflict. How easy? It’s so easy that Ross Perot and Rush Limbaugh (collective IQ: 6) can do it:
“Going to war without the French is like going deer hunting without an accordion” – Ross Perot
“As far as I’m concerned, war always ends in failure” – Jacques Chirac, President of France
“As far as France is concerned, you’re right.” – Rush Limbaugh
Jesus, way to walk into that one, Chirac. Getting scored on by Rush Limbaugh is like losing a game of tic-tac-toe to a chicken. What the fuck?
And certainly the French language doesn’t help matters any. Look, both of my parents hail from Canada, my mom from Quebec. I took French classes from first grade through high-school. I’m very familiar with French, and it’s just not a language that engenders respect. English, with its endless variety of profanities and interjections will always get your attention. Spanish goes a mile a minute, and if you don’t pay attention, you run the risk of accidentally agreeing to sell your grandmother to a brothel in Tijuana. German is almost psychotically violent in its use of harsh consonants and never ending word assaults. This is an actual German word:
Roughly translated, it means, “I am emigrating to Spain so I don’t have to deal with this fucking bullshit language again, oh my aching tongue!”
But French? The French language doesn’t make you take anything spoken in it seriously. It makes you want to knock it over and take its purse. For example, take these phrases which really should catch your attention, but instead make you want to giggle at the speaker:
- Je vais déchirer votre tête (I will rip your head off)
- Payez-moi mon argent ou je te violer vos animaux de compagnie (Pay me my money or I will rape your pets)
- J’ai couché avec Lindsay Lohan et vous donnera la chlamydia (I have slept with Lindsay Lohan and will give you chlamydia)
Here are the penultimate lyrics to Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven translated into French. If Robert Plant had sung this, he wouldn’t have been getting blown by ten to twelve groupies at a time, he’d have been getting a furtive hand job behind a dumpster like all French rock stars:
Et comme nous nous retrouvons sur la route
Nos ombres plus grandes que notre âme.
Il se promène une dame que nous savons tous
Qui brille une lumière blanche et veut montrer
Comment tout se transforme encore en or.
Et si vous écoutez très difficile
La mélodie viendra à vous au dernier.
Quand tout est un et c’est tout
Pour être un roc et ne pas rouler.
As the French would say, “Roc et rouler!” Let’s face it, when your word for shower is “douche”, you’re just asking for trouble. So it’s no surprise when I tell you that the name of the town that has been having trouble with sword-weilding nogoodniks is… Bitche. As in, Bitche, France. “I was attacked by brigands in Bitche. They took my cheese!”
(I shouldn’t make fun of them for surrendering, though. Swords are dangerous. Those things will fucking cut you wide open!)
I love it. “France played a crucial role because, hey, someone had to flee the battlefield crying like little girls.” Bwa ha ha ha ha. This is why I didn’t take French in highschool. At least Spanish can be used for something other than making me look like a pussy.
By the way – which ever “New Yorker” told you that they weren’t brash is a transplant that hasn’t been in the city longer than 6 weeks. You adjust or the cabs run over you.
Ahh, there’s always one New Yorker who’s like that. “We are not fuckin’ brash, asshole. What the fuck does that even fuckin’ mean, brash? Fuck you, I’m gonna bust up yer knees wit’ a pool cue ya’ fuckin’ moolie.”
Just let ’em try that here in the Good-‘Ol U S of A. We’d make those four guys into hamburger. (Or maybe pate’.)
That headline would have been a lot different, wouldn’t it?
Police fish bullet-ridden knights out of septic tank.
No French taunter references from The Holy Grail? Disappointing. But still funny.
Speaking of the Holy Grail, have you seen the iPad app for it? It’s the story of how it was made, and it’s fantastic. You can go through the story scene by scene, or you can go through chronologically. It’s got video, pictures, trivia, everything.
And you learn how it was a complete and utter disaster from day one, with Graham Chapman suffering from the DT’s so bad that he almost died, and two producers constantly fighting with each other, and using up the entire film’s overtime budget on the first day…
Oh, and I fart in your general direction.
Silly English knnnigget! Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries!
You don’t frighten us with your silly knees-bent running around advancing behavior!
That’s right, we don’t frighten easily. Especially the New Yorkers.
There is a town in Minnesota that is occupied by first-generation French descendants. It is called Gaylord.
I will be sure to bring this up the next time a French person is rude to me. Thanks.
Merde, that was hilarious, Greg. I never ever thought I would laugh at anything that was said by Perot or Limbaugh. The second cautionary tale was a bit horrifying though, with the red kool-aid, uh, blood, spurting everywhere. I had to cover my eyes.
Tripp Fisk? Should win an award for being an albino Willie Nelson lookalike.
Tripp Fisk is an asshole. Oh, shit, I lied! He’s the fucking man!
I know nothing of him, I meant he looks like Willie. I’m sure Willie is much cooler, what with all the ganja.
And head lice!
“Sorry Sir, I want to fight its just that my legs are cowards.”
I read a statistic a couple of weeks ago that Paris gets 20 million tourists a year. I too thought it was a trend set by the Germans in WWII.
Classic French joke: Why are the streets of Paris lined with trees? So the Germans can march in the shade.
Sometimes a post just has everything. It’s a feel-good anthem to world peace, even though Japan was’t involved. Almost everything, then.
At least Tripp Fisk has inspired me to take down all my ornamental weaponry.
Wish me luck.
Be careful or that shit is going to fucking cut you wide open!
Ah, the French. I love me some Vincent Cassel, but it’s impossible to watch one of his movies without imitating everything he says. It just sounds so…smug.
I can never read the words “Ah, the French” without thinking of this:
I’d have a smug mug too if I got to shag Monica Bellucci.
Too funny, especially as I’m massively hungover and laughing made my head hurt more.
I used to work with a Parisian chick. When first introduced I heard her accent and asked if she was French because I spoke it like a native. She replied in her language, and I dropped into Clouseau mode and never stopped whenever I was within earshot of her. I got to hear a lot of French cursing and it really is a beautiful language to swear in – “It’s like wiping your arse with silk”.
Everybody said I was responsible for the aneyurism.
You know whose swear words are really odd? The Quebecois, the real French Canadians. Their swear words are all related to Catholicism. Here are some typical ones:
baptême – baptism
câlice – chalice
calvaire – Calvary
ciarge – votive candle
ciboire – ciborium or pyx, the receptacle in which the host is stored
crisse – Christ
maudit – damn
ostie – host
sacrament – Sacrament
simonaque – from the followers of Simon the Sorcerer and the sin of simony
tabarnak – tabernacle
viarge – the Virgin Mary
Seriously, which makes you wonder how they say these things in church without offending the tabarnak out of everyone.